Shepherd Tales
by Kierus
Summary: The Shepherds were a hardy bunch, no doubt, but bards rarely tell the truest tale. Before we forget, remember that they were men and women who laugh and fought and wept like the rest of us; perhaps their watchful tactician most of all. Excerpts from FE:A, possibly an extended story.


The Shepherd Tales

The Shepherds were a hardy bunch, no doubt, but bards rarely tell the truest tale. Before we forget, remember that they were men and women who laugh and fought and wept like the rest of us; perhaps their watchful tactician most of all. Excerpts from FE:A, possibly an extended story.

Chapter One: The Barren Throne

_Following Emmeryn__'__s death, Chrom and the Shepherds flee to Regna Ferox only to ask for reinforcements and leave to secure the capital. There, a bruised and beaten Ylissean spirit is all Robin has to work with._

Robin paced forward, spun around, and paced back.

It had been a week since their narrow escape from the clutches of Gangrel. Feroxian reinforcements were bound to arrive soon. In the meantime, the Shepherds were back in a Ylisstol cleansed of Plegian soldiers, mustering their forces for the eventual attack on Gangrel's fortress in Plegia.

Or they should have been.

Chrom and Lissa were both holed up in their respective rooms, unwilling to come out and talk to anyone except for each other at ungodly hours of the night. The rest of the Shepherds were no better – Stahl had for the first time in history claimed that he "wasn't hungry," Cordelia had kept faulty records of the laundry for the first time in her life, and Maribelle's low tolerance for anything "uncivilized" had all but vanished with only screeching complaints towards anyone that dared cross her. Sully had for once in her life skipped training in lieu of her leg acting up, and Vaike had referred to himself in the first person in a moody "I'm not up for it today."

It was only the non-Ylissean Shepherds who were still functioning, and even then many were affected. Even Lon'qu, who still harbored a crippling fear of women, simply repeated "We lost. Unacceptable." When questioned, he only swung his practice blade harder.

All-in-all, everyone believed the campaign had failed. And the failure rested squarely on Robin's shoulders. The Exalt was gone.

The Ylissean civilians had not been told. There was no formal announcement, for Frederick had simply said that there would be panic and retreated into his own room as well. Some spoke in soft whispers of Emmeryn's death, while officers shooed such naysayers away with reassurances that the Exalt Emmeryn was in a safe, yet undisclosed location. Yet the disruption in the order of Ylisstol was evident – the heroic Shepherds trudged wordlessly to their barracks, only to offer halfhearted smiles to the smiling children eager to hear of how they saved Ylisstol and the Exalt.

And so it was that Robin would have been left to his own devices, if it weren't for the Council's insistent questions and inquiries. He took every measure to avoid such due to both a lack of desire to waste time and a sneaking fear of being betrayed as they had been at Breakneck Pass. With the Exalt gone, and her younger siblings refusing to open their doors, it had fallen to Robin to take care of a country without a leader.

He hated it.

Ylisse was a peaceful country – a legacy evidently left behind by the late Exalt. Food and money were not thankfully not troubling issues and day-to-day activities were handled on a hierarchical basis that prevented trivialities from bothering those who had better things to do. Even after Plegia's attack, the resilient capital had bounced back, resuming everyday business once city integrity had been restored. Outside Robin's window, working men were already attending to their daily grind while children were running through the streets eyed by worried mothers. It would have been an idyllic country if not for one outstanding problem.

The army was pathetic.

Robin flung his cloak on his bed and shut out the everyday life going on outside with a grunt. He knew that his feelings were irrational – after all, what former home country did he have to compare Ylisse's army to? It had had no need for such militarization – Ylisse was a peaceful country with a peaceful Exalt that simply flourished and did not need a large standing army. The Pegasus Knights reacted swiftly to any potential alterations with their aerial mobility. A large amount of magic users were devout clerics and priests, dedicated to healing rather than harming. What remained mages and cavaliers mostly only kept around for rather tame peacekeeping purposes as well as guards.

It was a testament to both Emmeryn's extensive efforts and her father's bloody legacy that the army was so small compared to Valm's renowned cavalry and Plegia's feared dark magic corps. Even more incredible was the fact that Ylisse still operated without much fear despite its meager military strength.

_But war?_ Robin mused, thumbing his tattered tome. _War is a different story._

The brutal truth was that Ylisse was ill-equipped to wage war. There were deficiencies in the front line, even with the troops from Regna Ferox. Ylissean troops were accustomed to fighting in small specialized units, weakening inter-division cohesion when it came time to fight on the main fronts. The loss of the Pegasus Knights during Emmeryn's fall had effectively crippled Ylisse's signature fighting force, and without the aerial superiority that Captain Philia and her women offered there was not much else to do but throw soldier after soldier towards hungry Dark Mages. The overstaffing of clerics and priests needed to be utilized for combat; a fact which was met with cries of pacifism in honor of the former Exalt. The Shepherds, while effective as a strike force, were still only little more than twenty men and women – hardly enough to sustain a prolonged war against a hostile Plegia.

The recent attack on Ylisstol and subsequent capture of Emmeryn weighed heavily on Robin's mind. How could a capital simply lose its leader? It was simply mindblowing for Emmeryn to be captured so easily when she was placed under heavy guard at all times. While Robin would had loved to mull over about a great siege and all its tactical nuances, he knew it was much more likely Plegian assassins had simply snuck in through some traitorous backdoor and kidnapped the Exalt in the dead of night.

It was a nightmare for any tactician. Even worse was Robin's credibility, or complete lack thereof, other than his admittedly short time with the Shepherds.

Robin knew his amnesia was no small matter – what man claims to be able to lead armies without knowing his own past? And _yet_, he couldn't shake the urgencies and feelings of apprehension when he saw holes in his own defense. A deficiency in a formation angered him, driving him to take every measure to create an impenetrable wall. A giddiness nearing malice rose up as he ruthlessly calculated ambushes, scaring the amnesiac with nightmares of his own dark roots. Nevertheless, Robin was a tactician, and he needed no other to tell him otherwise. No sane man would have the uncanny skill with the map without years of study and practice, and even Frederick had to admit that Robin had performed nothing short of miracles in keeping the Shepherds alive and well throughout the ordeal.

_Except Emmeryn._

He glanced at the Plegian robes that lay lifelessly on his bed, the dark eyes always seeming to watch him. He had always let himself be drawn in to the mysterious nuances of the Plegian insignia in times as these, letting his mind wander away from unwanted circumstances.

It seemed too short of a break before a knock on the door broke Robin away from his musings, and a polite voice called out.

"Sir Robin? The Council would see you now. Right this way."

Robin groaned and got up. He knew he would have to face the Council one way or another. There was simply no way to get things done without some measure of approval by the "crotchety old people" as Lissa humorously called them.

But it was another obstacle to be overcome. Chrom's behavior and the absence of Emmeryn meant that the Council took full control over Ylisse. If the Shepherds were to dethrone Gangrel, there would be hell to pay if they attempted to do so without damned approval. Even worse, Robin had to admit that there was simply no way for them to take on Plegia's raving lunatic mages without some form of backup. With Emmeryn gone, the Council even probably had final rule over what to do with the Feroxian reinforcements.

And there was still someone to answer for Emmeryn's absence.

"In here, sir. The Council awaits." The bellboy bowed and left, his footsteps echoing lightly down the hall. Robin watched as he left, breathing deeply before pushing forward the wooden door that seemed to weigh like lead.

The rich purple of the conference room coolly welcomed Robin as he stepped within the rounded space. In front of him was a U-shaped table facing a lone chair, surrounded by seats formed of rich cloth and woodwork. The exception was the seat on the far side of the room, which was crafted of humble wood, with the brand of the Exalt emblazoned on the back of the throne.

That was, coincidentally, the only empty one.

Men and women of various ages and vocations watched Robin as he approached. Some eyed him closely, while others distractedly flipped through books or had their eyes closed in deep thought. Robin grimaced. It would have been so much simpler if they had been the typical aged Elders he often came across in his studies.

"Sir Robin." A bearded man rose up, gesturing to the lone seat that faced the council. "Please, have a seat."

Robin tread lightly, his eyes darting back and forth between the stoic faces as he calculated his meager favor with the council.

"We have received your letter of request and grant you our ears. Speak." The man sat down, his voice betraying no hint of emotion.

_This is going to be rough. _Robin mentally braced himself, and began.

"I am Robin, tactician of the Sheperds, appointed by Prince Chrom himself. I am here today to discuss the current state of affairs regarding the war with Plegia."

He looked up from his notes. No reaction. Figured as much.

"As of this meeting, I assess that our military is in poor condition for carrying out a successful campaign against the Plegians. My formal request is for approval of a reformation of our current military in order to ensure our best chances for success."

_Gods, it was just so boring!_

The council responded minimally, with only a couple of people nodding their hooded heads.

Robin gripped his notes. He'd never liked dealing with nobles.

"Such changes would include expansion of the front line, with greater utilization of our magical units for greater offensive capability. Given Ylisse's resource in Pegasi, I would like to recommend a new and expanded Pegasus Knight Division. Also-"

"Pardon me, Sir Robin. Hold there." A voice rang out.

Robin let his notes hang from his hands. _And so it begins._

A woman not much older than Robin stood up, lowering her hood. Silver eyes pierced the uncomfortable tactician.

"I am Councilwoman Lilith. Pray tell, how do you plan to supply the funds and manpower for what you are proposing?"

Robin resisted the urge to sigh. "Recent village visits and assistance expeditions have proven successful, and reports of more and more willing recruits are coming in from the southern towns. Given the high morale of these men I deem that these villagers would be useful once tr-"

"And you would take these working citizens away from their villages and put them to war?" This time, it was a short, bespectacled man who spoke up.

"This is a time of war, sir. Plegia has already demonstrated that its attacks on the villages would not end any-"

"Have the Shepherds not proven sufficient enough in defending our borders?" Now it was an elderly woman.

"Such a small amount of soldiers cannot possibly..." Robin started indignantly.

"What of the Risen? Are you suggesting we send Ylissean lives to battle while these monsters terrorize our fields?"

"Why have Lords Chrom and Lissa not-?"

"Where are your credentials for having the _authority_-?"

"_Where is the Exalt?__"_

The final question rang out from a figure sitting on the right hand of the Exalt's seat. The rising din of voices that drowned Robin's protests out suddenly died down, and the remaining council members looked to the speaker.

A man rose up, throwing back his hood. Grey hair crowned a grizzled visage, with a faded scar running down a rough jaw and trailing onto the neck. Steel-grey eyes bore unwaveringly on Robin as a gravelly tone spoke the words no one else dared to utter.

_Ah. This is where it begins._

Robin simply released his notes, watching them flutter to the ground before looking the man straight in the eye and declaring, "The Exalt is dead."

A collective gasp rushed its way around the room, with several council members clapping their hands to their mouths. The silver eyes of the councilwoman immediately lost their interrogative sheen, giving way to a mournful dullness as she dropped her gaze to the floor.

The scarred councilman sat down, clasping his hands and closing his eyes. Robin looked around uncomfortably – it seemed as though even this grizzled veteran of diplomacy was taken aback, and the other council members were in embroiled in their own grief.

It was an eternity before the lead councilman collected himself and continued his blunt interrogation.

"Explain."

_Such a simple command._ Robin thought the memories that the word brought forth were nothing simple.

"Khan Basilio was the first to alert us to the Exalt's capture. We set out with the assistance of some Feroxian reinforcements…"

Sand. It stretched as far as the eye could see.

Plegia was known for its vast deserts, Robin knew, but the sheer vastness of it all briefly stole his mind's focus.

The Shepherds were currently set up for the night within distance of their attack on Plegia's castle. Within a short walk's distance were the Feroxian troops who were called upon to assist the Shepherds on their hurried march to Plegia. Khans Basilio and Flavia had called upon their finest soldiers for immediate assistance while the main armies were still mobilizing. Both camps, though separate, remained close, with patrols encircling each vigilantly.

The desert night was quiet, and the stars above shone brightly without cloud nor care. Careful rotations were well underway in order to allow for each soldier amount of sleep, but Robin doubted there would be anyone relaxed enough to fall to slumber given the monumental task set for tomorrow.

_Except Stahl._ Robin chuckled. _That dastard never has a problem sleeping_.

As for the tactician, wax was still burning slowly in his tent as Robin pored over his strategy texts. His hand scratched furiously, underlining and marking as his mind went over the planned strategy over and over. A large map lay unrolled in front of him, with notes and markings scattered on its weathered surface. The candle was dangerously low, yet the tactician continued to cross out and draw, his mind lost in countless scenarios of swords and tomes.

A gloved hand opened the tent flap behind Robin, and a voice called out.

"You're going to run our army out of candle wax."

Robin jolted out of his reverie, looking back to see the crown prince holding up the weathered tent flap.

Chrom lowered himself onto Robin's spare chair, Falchion still at his side despite the late hours at which he came. The prince good-naturedly greeted Robin with a friendly jibe, as was their custom before large battles.

Robin allowed the prince a nervous smile before turning back to his work.

"It's a lot more work than it looks like, Chrom. I've got to make sure everyone goes according to plan." He feinted turning his attention to his book, knowing the prince let on more than he spoke.

Chrom laughed, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing Falchion as if to remind himself of its comforting presence. Robin turned his head, his smile all but disappearing. He could read the prince all too well at this point.

"I see I'm not the only one that's nervous." The tactician said, his tone losing its strained merriment.

Chrom mirrored Robin's change, his back straightening as his eyes lost their false glimmer. He face hardened and the friendly banterer that Robin had grown accustomed to was once more replaced by the crown prince of Ylisse. Robin had to remind himself that before him was no mere man but a descendent of the Hero King.

"I'm scared." Chrom said quietly.

"So am I." Robin murmured.

A pregnant silence wrapped itself around both men's minds before Robin could bring himself to look Chrom in the eye. The prince's eyes were unfocused, as though he were lost in his own mind. Robin remained silent, allowing Chrom to collect himself before continuing.

"For the longest time, it was just me and the Shepherds, romping around and dealing with brigands and bandits while Emmeryn carried on at home. No matter how badly things went in the field, I knew that I could always come home and she'd be there to welcome us back." Chrom said. His words swept Robin up along with the tactician's own visions of Ylisse's vast plains and welcoming skies, ushering a brief feeling of peace as he imagined the Shepherds cheerfully coming to Ylisstol's welcoming arms.

"When our parents died, Emmeryn was always there for me – for us. She took the hate that the people threw at her and endured it all to create peace. She took two lost siblings and endured them to make us whole again."

Chrom fell quiet before his gaze recovered, and a familiar flame briefly sparked up in the prince's eyes in that instant.

"Ylisstol cannot lose its Exalt…"

He paused, and the fire died.

"…And I can't bear to lose my sister." He fell silent.

Robin said nothing, dropping his own gaze onto the floor. He opened his mouth and pronounced slowly, as if tasting his own words for the poison of false promises.

"I swear to you, Chrom, that I will do nothing short of my best to save Emmeryn." He began. "We can't lose hope. We need to believe in these bonds that we've forged with our brothers and sisters and those you've forged with your sister." He swallowed, searching for the words that would give Chrom the bravery that he himself had spent fitful nights searching for.

"To lose faith is to lose everything, Chrom. I think – I _know_ Emmeryn would never once doubt those bonds."

Robin did not dare to look up, praying that his answer was satisfactory. Chrom seemed to still be digesting Robin's words, and the tactician shifted uncomfortably under the tension.

It was a while before Chrom finally responded, lightly punching the tactician and breaking into a half-smile. "Eloquent words for a man who fell asleep on a hill, don't you think?"

Robin let out the breath he wasn't aware he was holding. "Perhaps. But hell, if even I can understand them, they must be truth, eh?" He said good-naturedly.

Chrom laughed and rose up, collecting himself before turning to leave. "I appreciate it, Robin. Get some sleep – we'll need our master tactician if we're going to be trading stories with Emmeryn on the road by tomorrow night."

Robin bid farewell to the prince, closing the tent flap and trying to turn back to his studies before realizing the utter uselessness of even trying. He flung himself on his cot, staring at the dark void above him and losing himself to his thoughts.

He wished he could believe his own advice. He wished that he could deliver the same miracles that had earned him the whispered title of Miracle-Worker. He desperately sought out the cool confidence that had somehow led him to preserve a zero-casualty record up until this point.

Yet when he so desperately needed the cold, rational strength that terrified him of his own brutality, it left him.

He let his thoughts wander to the Shepherds, the men and women who trusted him with their lives. Stahl, the voracious eater. Miriel, the lady of science. Sumia, Vaike, and all the others who would follow his orders a week after meeting him simply because they trusted Chrom.

And Chrom trusted him. Not just Chrom, the noble prince who loved his people. Not just Chrom, the brother who had helped Robin find his place after losing his memory.

There was Chrom, the man who hurt and feared just as all of them did, and it was this Chrom that Robin could not bring himself to fail. The Shepherds could openly express their fear of losing the Exalt – but their leader had to remain strong. Chrom had had to endure putting on a stoic face while news of his sister's planned execution shocked all of those under his command. For Chrom to lose that façade of strength would be devastating not only for the Shepherds, but all of Ylisse. Emmeryn was not just the ruler of Ylisse, but she was their pinnacle and their saint; a shining example of what civilization could be if the olive branch replaced the sword.

Robin didn't know if he had been a religious man, but he could not help himself from uttering a single plea before losing himself to his own excuse for sleep.

"Gods help me."

"EVERYONE NOW!"

Robin's cry grew hoarse towards the end, giving way to the sound of a desperate charge as Flavia's axe smashed into the executioner. The rumbling of wind disturbed by wings and the _twang_ of Virion's arrow nearly deafened Robin as he ran underneath the shadow of Cordelia's Pegasus.

The sand had created an immense obstacle in the movement of troops, as Robin had found out. The Feroxians were more or less untroubled, given their propensity for hand-to-hand combat, but the Shepherds had had to radically alter their formations, trading horses for wings and leaving behind much of the heavy armor.

Above Robin flew Cordelia, with Stahl on her back as he timed his swings of the blade with the graceful dives of the Pegasus. Chrom and Sumia were not too much farther ahead, striking quickly at designed targets and rising back up in order to avoid the long-range fire from bows. Robin and every single magic user he could get were on foot, firing spell after spell as they tried to prevent the airborne Shepherds from being shot down. The mounted Shepherds brought up the rear, armed to the teeth with Javelins and led by a fiery-eyed Frederick.

Ahead of them was a vast conglomerate of Plegia's elite – dark mages, archers, and wyvern riders seemed to meld in and out of the dunes as skillfully as ghosts. Lancemen with their sharp pikes threatened to skewer the unwary, clearly at home in the Plegian deserts.

All the while the landscape raged – gusts of wind slapped the soldiers with palms of sand underneath a glowering high noon sun that watched the bloodshed unfold.

"Virion! Fliers to the left and right – take them down! Frederick, shift to the left and watch for archers on the walls! Sumia, Cordelia! Lay low and switch to Javelins until the skies are clear!" Robin shouted, delivering order after order as his hands spat searing lightning.

The Feroxians, led by Basilio, had graciously offered to attack the main brunt of the Plegian forces while the Shepherds had fought their way to the desolate fossil ruins where Emmeryn was to be executed. They were supported by Flavia and her best ranged soldiers, focused on keeping the Exalt safe while the Shepherds continued their advance. Behind them lay a closing gap of safety while ahead was their Exalt, watching fearfully from her perch on the ancient bones.

"Chrom, Stahl, dismount and join with the main force! Everyone take cover amid the rocks! Keep casting and shooting!"

The sheer danger of the situation left Robin with no choice but to push for a fast hit-and-run tactic. Their only shot was to cut through to Emmeryn, rescue her, and kill Gangrel before enemy forces caught up and brought inevitable death. It was risky – even more so on land that severely hindered the horses – but it was the best method for a bad situation.

_Really, it was the only method. _Robin grimaced as a fallen wyvern cried out, its screeching cry dwarfing its rider's screams.

The Shepherds swept underneath the stony outcropping, tomes still glowing and projectiles launching while the war cries of the Feroxians could still be heard in the distant battlefields elsewhere. Stray lancemen from the broken Plegian lines screamed as Vaike's axe met its grisly destination, its owner's trademark grin absent amidst the bloody chaos. Frederick had dismounted, his lance in full action while Kellam's javelins nearly went unnoticed as he did – until they buried themselves in the soft robes of dark mages.

Overhead, Sumia and Cordelia circled above, flinging their own Javelins as they struggled to dodge and weave the whistling response of arrow volleys. Lissa and Maribelle were frantically casting, their healing spells working overtime as the Shepherd frontline was already weary of the sand.

_Focus._ This was no time to get lost in the chaos.

The tactician squinted, eyeing the road ahead. An outpost stood ahead, its ancient and dusty fortifications hastily returned to service by the Plegians who were garrisoned there. Four towers stood with two facing the Shepherds and two in the back. A drawbridge was closed, iron chains preventing entrance into the outpost. Archers and more dark mages peered above from the short towers, letting loose a barrage of arrows and magic that threatened to erode the Shepherd's cover. To the right was-

A flying body. A flash of unmistakable healing magic. A Plegian archer screamed as a killer axe beheaded him. Long blonde hair whipped in the desert wind.

_Is that..?_

"All Shepherds, move up! Sumia, Virion, Cordelia! Mount Frederick and Vaike and cover our approach to the south! Stahl, Chrom, Sully, dismount and head southwest, we have a Ylissean over there! Ricken, Miriel, come with me!"

The Shepherds shifted flow, the charging of feet suddenly changing direction as splitting strands of water. The prince charged forward, his vigor still going ever strong. The cavaliers struggled to catch up as Falchion's gleam began getting farther and farther.

Robin turned his attention away. He looked to the mages on either side of him, nodding once to each before turning his attention toward the fort ahead.

_One, two, three, four-_. A volley. Cordelia and Sumia swerved and thankfully were unharmed.

A pause. _One, two, three, four-_.

"NOW!"

With a great sweeping gesture and the turning pages of the Elwind tome, Robin allowed the magic to come forth once more and matched the yell of his fellow mages.

"ELWIND!"

A great wall of wind swept up, bringing up with it coarse sand. Plegian arrows that were once making a beeline straight for the Ylisseans were suddenly swept up and flew harmlessly to the side. It was a majestic feat of magic – a simple spell rotation and breakthrough that Robin had agonized over with Miriel and Ricken for sleepless nights in order to combat the multitude of archers that formed Plegia's backline.

The volleys stopped, the archers on the towers clearly confused about what to do against a wall of wind that seemingly stopped their shafts. It was all the time that Robin needed.

"Shift focus! ELWIND!"

This time the rush of wind came at a curve, running close and parallel to the sand before sweeping upward at the archers. With it came a great torrent of sand that engulfed the towers, creating a monstrous cloud of dusty smoke that left no vision for the archers.

"Fliers, go! Mages, run!"

Sumia and Cordelia, with Frederick and Vaike in tow, immediately rushed forward, splitting off towards where the towers had been into the vast sand cloud. Robin, Ricken, and Miriel broke into a run toward the fort, their light weight allowing for unobstructed travel on the sand.

"Cut the chains holding the drawbridge." Robin commanded. The two mages did so, twin sharp blades of wind slicing the weakened and old chains. The ancient bridge fell down across the waterless moat, allowing entrance.

"Do you think they got it?!" Ricken panted, his shorter height not suited for the charge.

"We can only trust our calculations." Miriel replied.

Robin said nothing, running straight up the entrance and making for the northern tower entrance. A molding oak door blocked off the trio of mages and a conspciously quiet towerhead.

"No time to pray." Robin clenched his teeth. "Thunder!"

A sizzling bolt of energy knocked the door off its hinges, and a blast of sand streamed in.

_Please, please, please__…_

A towering shadow appeared.

Robin felt his legs give way. _No__…_

A hearty laugh rang out, and Vaike stepped in.

"Dive bombing a tower while I can't see nothing? TOTALLY Teach's style!"

Sumia ducked under Vaike's raised arm and gave Robin a nervous smile.

"Robin!" The tactician looked behind him and was only more relieved to see Cordelia and Frederick come down the hall while the Virion fidgeted in his sandblasted trousers.

Stahl and Sully were dusting off their similarly defiled armor, while Chrom was with-

"And who is this?" Robin queried, glancing at the blonde haired figure clutching both an axe and a staff that followed the prince.

Chrom straightened up, and Robin realized that the prince was red-faced. Stahl snickered while Sully guffawed.

"Th-this is Libra, a Yl-Ylissean…" Chrom stuttered.

Robin looked at him, bemused. "Sure, but what is he? A monk?"

Chrom shook his head. "No, he's a war-wait. HOW did you know _he__'__s _not a _she?!__"_ The prince exclaimed indignantly.

Robin stared at the embarrassed prince, in the middle of a battle in order to save his sister and the leader of his realm, and laughed.

"I told you Marth was a female, didn't I?"

Chrom fidgeted uncomfortably while Libra stepped forward. "I am Libra, sire. War Cleric. I specialize in healing, while I am proficient with the axe to some degree." The long-haired man bowed, his feminine voice and hair offset by a strong determination and discipline.

"A front line healer eh? Hm…" Robin's brain began to run faster, calculating Libra's potential strategic value.

Frederick stepped up. "This break is well-appreciated, but we must be on our way. I need not remind you of what is at stake."

Robin shook himself out of his brief respite. The _twang_ of arrows and roar of spells sounded from the other side of the outpost, signaling that the other Shepherds had been already holding the fort for Chrom and Robin to swap banter.

"Right. Return to formations, but add Libra behind the front line for close range support. Keep the advance slower so the riders can keep up and maintain the frontline." Robin began to jog forward, motioning the other Shepherds to do the same. "We're going to exit out of this outpost through the east entrance with swords drawn. Frederick – get the other Shepherds in position while Chrom and I prepare to lower the ramp." The Great Knight nodded, changing direction and climbing the stairs while his sharp tone called out to the Shepherds up above.

Up ahead was a single lever controlling the drawbridge. Robin grabbed it, while Chrom immediately took the lead, with the rest of the Shepherds rallying behind him.

Robin frowned, and began to reprimand Chrom for breaking formation. "Chrom-"

The prince simply eyed the tactician with his signature burning eyes, interrupting Robin. "We're saving my sister." He said simply.

Robin conceded, nodding. "On my mark."

There was a rustling of steel as lances were raised and blades readied.

"Go."

The drawbridge was lowered, and the last charge began.


End file.
